


I Had a Dream, Which Was Not At All a Dream

by congratcha_well_done



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First kiss fluff, Friends to Lovers, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Sherlock likes to read byron's works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 05:37:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1846306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/congratcha_well_done/pseuds/congratcha_well_done
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship." -Lord George Byron</p><p>The formatting on this is really screwed up but I can't fix it 'till I get to a real computer, sorry friends!</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Had a Dream, Which Was Not At All a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a oneshot about a Johnlock first kiss and I threw in some Romantic Era Poems to make it a tad bit more interesting, I hope you all enjoy!

Sherlock had been sprawled over the couch since the minute he got home and changed into pajamas and a dressing gown. It was quite entertaining to see the normally imposing man shaking like a wet kitten after the gale force wind and rain outside. But now that he was changed and dry he was completely immersed in a small book he had drawn from his pocket. John suspected it was the same book that Sherlock had popped into a dingy bookshop to pick up on their way home from The Yard the other day. He had been relatively agreeable this past week, keeping the body parts and gunfire to a minimum so John didn't complain. And to top it all off he was pretty sure that earlier this week Sherlock actually rinsed out one of his tea cups by himself as well, quite a feat.

He must have been placated with the cases he had gotten this turn round. They provided a perfect level of challenge, not too trying as to frustrate him, but enough to keep him busy. John was glad, at times like this he almost enjoyed the quaint, domestic lull of the flat. Almost, nothing really beat running around the dangerous streets of London chasing criminals, though. Having finished boxing up the night's takeaway he grabbed the paper and gave the front page a once-over as he sank into the armchair next to the consulting detective. "What you reading there, Sherlock?" All John received was a slight mumble so he tried again, "Hmm?" "The works of Lord Byron, if you must know, John." "Oh right, of course." Nothing less for Sherlock Holmes, John thought. Byron was something John had never gotten around to reading, he pictured an older version of himself sitting in a rocking chair and reading the romantic's writings, though. Focusing back on the newspaper, John noticed a small section headlined, 'The Consulting Detective's Live-In Lover!' His eyes quickly scanned over the gossip article, anger brewing in his core. "Those twats, I can't believe they did it again..." "Did what?" Sherlock perked up, wondering at the sudden point of John's agitation. He waked over to John's chair and perched himself on the arm as he read over the good doctor's shoulder. "Utterly ridiculous, isn't it?" John was still fuming. "Yes, but why does it bother you so much?" Sherlock shifted on the chair's arm, trying to get comfortable. "I've told you before, Sherlock, I just don't think you'd understand." Sherlock paused for a moment, waves of something passed through him. Something... Some deep seated emotion. Hurt? Maybe. He was no longer looking down at John, but staring off into another dimension entirely. "I think you'll find there are very few things which I don't understand." He failed to keep the pathetic notes of hurt out of his voice as he stood to leave. But he had barely taken a step before John caught his wrist, gently spinning him around again to face the doctor. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." Now it was John's turn to be vulnerable. Sherlock's heart momentarily softened as he settled on a fairly neutral response, "You know, I'm not an inexperienced twelve year old. As much as you like to think so, John." He almost added, 'sex doesn't alarm me,' but felt too much a parrot of another occasion. "No, no, you're right. But you see, I'm not entirely sure why it bothers me so much either." John began backtracking, he couldn't, he wouldn't, tell Sherlock why. His feelings towards the man were conflicted enough without having to deal with face forward rejection just yet. Realizing that he was still holding Sherlock's wrist, John began to release it but the taller man stopped him and grabbed his whole hand, "You know I was so unsure myself too, those first weeks," he reached down for John's other hand, drawing closer to him. "But I've made up my mind now, and I think you are very close to doing the same." All sorts of thoughts were running through John's mind as he was rooted to the spot by the alarming effect the consulting detective had on him. "All this time," The two men met eyes and Sherlock leaned in even closer, if possible, "Right under my nose." Then he drew away just slightly, giving John time to refuse, to back out. But he was already so far gone, all he wanted now was a golden kiss. "I think that even a twelve year old would agree that this is the part where I kiss you." And all John could do was nod before he was once again drawn in by the detective's intoxicating presence, and he wouldn't have it any other way. When the two finally broke apart for air John scooter over in the chair, making room for Sherlock to slide in next to him. They fit together perfectly John marveled as he traced a line over Sherlock's knuckles and pressed a kiss to the side of his head. "So what was the moral of the story?" He asked lazily, indicating the book once again stowed away in Sherlock's dressing gown pocket. "It was merely poetry, there was no moral, there never is. When you read poetry you are left to find your own morals." "And what did you find?" "I wasn't looking, my beliefs are predetermined, they won't be swayed by some long dead romantic." John drew in a shallow breath and asked, barely hoping for an answer. "And what do you believe in?" "I believe in you, John Watson." Sherlock whispered before dipping his head down to meet John's lips. As he drew away Sherlock pulled the small book from his pocket and flipped to a dog eared page, "However I did find something that reminded me of you." He turned to face John fully and began to quote the romantic poet. "Why I came here, I know not; where I shall go it is useless to inquire - in the midst of myriads of the living and the dead worlds, stars, systems, infinity, why should I be anxious about an atom?" And then John leaned in and kissed him again. Part way to shut him up and part way because he had no idea what the bit of prose meant but mostly, just to kiss that beautiful man again.


End file.
